Generations
by TriciaOakenshield
Summary: A Christmas present for julietswangirl :) Thoria (OC by Juliet) tells her young nephews a story about Thorin and his siblings when they were children. Rated K for safety. No slash.
1. Chapter 1: A Tale to Tell

**_A/N: This story is dedicated to julietswangirl, for whom it is being written. Thanks Juliet for being such a great friend- for the days when it was just us and Angel making up stories together in the roleplay every night for months- for all the time we've spent talking and just hanging out- and for your huge support in both my RP and my fics. Mukhuh Mahal udnîn zu ra sanzigil umkhûh zu - May Mahal keep you and mithril find you!_**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Thoria or (unnamed in this story) Aaliyah- they belong solely to julietswangirl, their creator. (I do not own any of the other characters either, but I like to think otherwise most of the time :P) **_

_Chapter 1: A Tale to Tell_

Far to the western end of Middle Earth, beyond the Shire, there is a land where the mountains reach from the far north all the way down to the sea. It is said that in another age, two great dwarf kingdoms rested in those mountains, though none now live who remember that time.

Our story takes place a good bit to the south, in a group of mountains that stands just below the Shire with the sea to its back. They call them the Blue Mountains, and it was there that Thorin Oakenshield, along with the remainder of Durin's line, settled in exile after the destruction of Erebor, their homeland.

Now, at this time the Dwarves had not yet delved very deep into the mountains of that region, and much of the population still lived in wooden cottages and shallow dwellings just inside the stone, so close to the outside world that windows had been cut to give light during the day.

But now, as the sun sank behind the rocky crags in the west, the dwarves began to light their lamps. And so we find Thoria, the youngest sister of Thorin, doing this very thing in her own small house, which she shared with her brother, her sister, and her sister's children.

"Here's the last one, Dís," she said, setting her flint on the windowsill and picking up the lamp, which was little more than a bowl with a candle in it, now burning brightly in her hands and casting a golden light onto the stone walls.

"Good, set it here on the table," said Dís in reply, patting the spot with her free hand before turning to take a few plates off a stone shelf that jutted out from the wall. A baby bounced on her hip, held firmly in place by one arm, and two young boys tussled at her feet. Thoria set the lamp where her sister had indicated, and began to help set the table, nimbly avoiding her nephews as they rolled and scampered out from under her workspace.

"Catch me!" squealed Kíli, dashing away from his brother as quickly as his stubby little legs would allow. Fíli dove after him, and they toppled over together onto the stone floor where a good deal of tickling ensued. Of course, tickling was followed by wrestling, which in turn was followed by another mad dash back across the room. Fíli rolled under the table in mock escape from his toddling brother, who was squealing and giggling as if it were the best game in the world.

"Careful boys," warned Dís, but almost before she had finished speaking, Kíli jumped after Fíli and knocked them both into one of the table legs which sent two or three precariously balancing plates to their demise on the stone below."Ah, mafarrakh d'afrukh," laughed Dís under her breath, abandoning her pot of stew to go clean up the mess.

"Oh, no, don't bother," said Thoria quickly, stepping in to pick up the broken pottery, "I've got it."

Dís smiled thankfully and turned back to her preparations for supper. "Âkminrûk zu."

"With pleasure," assured Thoria, nudging Fíli, who began to help her immediately.

"Achrâchi gabilul," said Fíli apologetically to his aunt as they gathered the last few pieces into a pile and put them out of the way where the little ones would not be hurt. (It was too dark out to dispose of them properly just yet.)

"Oh, it's quite alright," assured Thoria, "You were only playing." She scooped Kíli up into her arms, ruffling his hair fondly. "Even Thorin was reckless at your age."

"Uncle?" squeaked Kíli, his big eyes bright with curiosity.

"Yes," said Thoria, sitting down in a wooden armchair by the window, "Your uncle was a lot like you, really... Always getting into trouble." She smiled at the memories that so obviously danced behind her eyes, plopping the dark-haired dwarfling on her lap while his brother crawled up beside them.

Kíli blinked, his little mind working. "Frerin too?"

Fíli drew a sharp breath, "Kíli," he hissed, "Uncle doesn't like it when you-"

"Oh, it's alright," said Thoria calmly, "Thorin isn't home yet, and I've a mind to tell you two a little story before he gets back from the forges."

"A story about uncle?" asked Kíli before his fair-haired brother could protest any more.

"Yes, a story about all of us: me, Thorin, your mother- and even Frerin," she said, smiling at her youngest nephew's enthusiasm.

"Oh hoorah!" cried the tot, bouncing up and down on his aunt's knee, overjoyed at the prospect of finally hearing about his second uncle, who had died before Fíli was born. They knew he had fallen in the Battle of Moria, but little else was ever said of him. In fact, Erebor and the life before exile were almost never mentioned in that household, so to the young heirs of Durin, this story was a special treat.

"Now, where shall I begin?" asked Thoria, settling in to tell a good tale and gathering her nephews close.

"What was he like?" asked Fíli. "Frerin I mean."

"Well," began Thoria, "Let's see. He was tall, for a dwarf, though not as tall as Thorin. He had copper-coloured hair, like your mother. And he was always smiling..."

_To be continued in the New Year with Chapter Two!_

_**Khuzdul Translations: **_

_**Mafarrakh d'afrukh**__ - A burden to carry (meant this time in jest) _

_**Âkminrûk zu**__ - Thank you_

_**Achrâchi gabilul**__ - I am sorry (formal)_


	2. Chapter 2: The Trouble With Dwarves

_**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the places or characters in this story. Thoria belongs to julietswangirl, for whom this story is written, and the rest belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien, because of whom this story is possible.**_

_Chapter Two: The Trouble With Dwarves_

"We were a happy family," said Thoria with a grin, "And a rather large one at that! While most families had one or two children, we had four! And I must admit, our parents had a hard time keeping track of us. Especially when father was busy doing something official... Which he always was.

We spent most of our days trying to get out of our studies, and getting in to everything we weren't supposed to be in. Well, Thorin at least tried to be responsible, but we dragged him along on our adventures anyway..."

[100 years earlier]

"Come on Thorin, it'll be fun!" begged Dís, as she and little Thoria pulled on their big brother's sleeve.

"I've already told you, I have to finish this by tonight or Master Lóni will have my head!" Young Thorin gestured to the pile of books on his writing desk.

"Nonsense!" cried Frerin, clapping Thorin on the back. "You've been working all day! First it was swordfighting all morning, then Khuzdul for at least two hours, and now- what is this? Politics? No, my dear brother, what you really need is a break- a vacation!"

Thorin sighed, looking at his younger brother. "And I suppose you know just the thing?"

"Why of course! Don't I always? Come now, have I ever given you bad advice before?"

Thorin raised an eyebrow.

"That's beside the point," Frerin added hastily. "But you have to admit, it really is a great idea."

"You haven't even told me what it is yet!"

"Haven't I? I thought I told you it would be an adventure, and one adventure's as good as the next!"

Thorin just crossed his arms, sending his brother the look that said he wasn't going to budge until properly informed about this so-called 'adventure'.

"Oh dear, Thorin, I believe you really have become a wet blanket after all. And you used to be the one who started the adventures! Ah well, if you must know, we were just going to follow the river down to Mirkwood, and... see if any elves were about...you know... just... wandering the forest as they do..."

"Frerin!" Thorin's expression said everything he was thinking, but he said it anyway. "You can't just take our sisters and walk into that forest like it's a summer holiday! What do you think Father would say if he found out?!"

"He's not going to say anything, because we're not going to tell him," said Frerin with a convincing raise of the eyebrows.

Thorin, however, wasn't buying any of it. "I'm not going, and neither are you! And if you try, I will inform Father immediately! Do you hear me?" He had to jump in front of the door to keep his younger siblings from dashing away, but Thoria and Dís slipped past him anyway, and as he turned to catch them, Frerin darted through, laughing heartily in his escape. "Come on Thorin! You can't sit around and mope forever!"

Thorin growled in aggravation as he dashed after his siblings, their heavy boots clapping the stone floor of the hall and echoing all down the corridor. "You come back here right now!" yelled Thorin, rounding a bend in the stone passage and descending a flight of stairs after his escaped charges. But they did not heed his call. The only difference his protest made was that they laughed harder and ran even faster than before. Soon they were tearing through the great hall itself, in a mad dash for the gate that led out into the heavily traveled road.

Thorin was catching up to his brother and sisters, just in time to stop them before they ran outside, when a familiar voice made all four of the children freeze in their tracks. It was Thráin! Thorin stared at the royal figure that was their father- standing just on the other side of the traffic which always bustled in and out of the Main Gate of Erebor. He was talking to Fundin and Gróin.

Without thinking, Thorin dove behind the nearest cart, parked by the wide lane. Frerin and the girls were only a second behind, and the four sat panting for a minute before Thorin dared to peek around the side.

"Whew! He hasn't seen us."

The other three sighed in relief, relaxing a little and picking themselves up off the ground.

Thorin huffed, turning toward his brother in renewed aggravation. "Now look at the mess you've gotten us into. Can't you ever do anything without getting into trouble?"

"The real trouble," said Frerin, "Is how we are to get out of the gate with him standing right there!" He motioned dramatically in the general direction of their father.

"Even if you WERE leaving," said Thorin, "Which you are NOT, you would never be able to get through without being seen. He's going to a meeting in Dale with a number of important businessmen, and even if you waited until he left, you would certainly be spotted on the road."

Frerin opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but stopped short as his attention was suddenly grabbed by something else.

A mischievous grin spread slowly across the young Dwarf's face. "Oh, he won't see us."

"What are you talking about?" Thorin twisted around to see what his brother had become so very interested in all of a sudden. Two elves were walking straight toward the cart - traders, too distracted in their own conversation to notice what was transpiring on the other side of their horses.

"It's not as if- you could..." Sudden realization dawned on Thorin's face. "Oh, Frerin, NO. You can't be thinking of-"

"Why not? It's a perfectly logical plan! Those Elves will certainly be bound for Mirkwood. All we have to do is ride along, and our problem's solved! Given that we stay out of sight, of course." Frerin was already climbing up into the back of the cart, and before Thorin could do anything to stop him, Thoria had already been hoisted up while Dís climbed in behind.

"Are you mad?! Get down from there right now! Father would have my head if he knew what you were doing!"

No response came from the wagon, save for some shuffling. The three young dwarves were already invisible under the silks and banners that constituted the wagon's load, and Thorin was left alone by the side of the cart.

Glancing nervously at the elves, who were mounting the drivers box, he knew he had only two choices: stay behind to be found out by Thráin, or join his siblings in their hair-brained scheme to be found out by the elves.

It wasn't a hard decision.

A moment later the carriage rolled out of the gate, as if nothing in the world were amiss. The day was bright, the birds were singing, and the traffic between Erebor and Dale went on quite like any other day. Which just goes to show how little anyone knows of what is going to happen next.


End file.
